


Cherry Malt

by fictionalcandie



Series: Smitten 'verse [4]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam discovers the interesting effect that alcohol has on Kris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Malt

Kris's friends' Weekly Mario Tournament of Awesome SMASH (as Adam has been instructed to begin thinking about it) is actually... Well. It's almost disgustingly _normal_.

Adam isn't sure what he expected, exactly, from this group of guys with apartments and cars and lives of their own, who can legally buy the beer they're drinking and don't have curfews, but he _is_ sure that it _wasn't_ the whole lot of them calling each other names and hooting and shouting worse than Neil and his friends. They're all tumbled over and around each other in Cale's living room like a pack of rowdy puppies, really, and every two seconds it seems someone is yelping and getting kicked for their trouble. It doesn't rate very high on the maturity level.

On the other hand, of course, there is a truly exceptional amount of alcohol in the process of being consumed. Adam is pretty sure all the tournament contestants brought their own six pack (Kris brought two, even — also Adam totally has no idea what actually happened to that first round of beers because he's sure no-one could have drunk it that fast), and every round Cale ceremoniously pours a shot of Jose Cuervo for the winner.

Kris — after very pointedly handing his keys to Adam in front over everyone while solemnly intoning, "Bear witness; my official designated sober person!" shortly after they'd arrived and introductions had been made — is very definitely in the lead. Game-wise _and_ booze-wise.

Since he isn't drinking, Adam also isn't playing, because apparently it would constitute cheating if he did. Instead, he sits on a couch off to the side of the room, with Cale, Keeper of the Suspiciously Quickly Emptying Tequila Bottle.

"We take our MarioKart very seriously," Cale tells him, mournful. "It's something you should probably know, since Kris is keeping you now, and all."

Adam sputters. "I— What?"

A frown line appears between Cale's brows. "What, you're not planning on sticking with him?"

"No, that's not, I mean, what I." Adam clears his throat. "What was that about keeping me?"

"Keeping you," says Cale slowly. "Not letting you go. Settling down and being disgustingly domestic with you."

Adam blinks several times is succession. "Oh."

"But," Cale goes on, "they way he talks about you, I'm pretty sure— Speak of the devil. Hi."

The next moment, Adam has a lap full of Kris. Grinning, hot-eyed Kris, to be precise.

"Hi," he says to Adam, even though Adam hasn't said anything yet and also Cale's still waiting to be acknowledged. "Guess what."

"What?"

Kris snuggles closer. "I won."

"What, the— the whole thing?" asks Adam. He glances at Cale, but Cale is grinning indulgently at Kris and is no help.

"The important races," says Kris. He loops an elbow around Adam's neck, leans in and nuzzles along Adam's jaw.

Adam really, really hopes he's not blushing. "The important races, right. Okay."

"Hey." Kris squirms across Adam's thighs, sitting up a little straighter and pressing closer to Adam, his right hand patting at Adam's chest over his heart. "Hey, Adam, didya drink anything?"

Adam blinks, confused by the question, because they'd discussed that, like, twice, before they left — how Adam was okay with it if Kris drank around him and he wouldn't find it sleazy, and he'd promised, actually _promised_ , that he wouldn't have any alcohol even if Kris didn't keep an eye on him, because _Kris_ wasn't comfortable with that, said that he might be seducing Adam into a life of sex and debauchery, but he wasn't going to contribute to juvenile delinquency and besides Adam's mama _trusted_ him, Kris had to respect that — and if it turns out that Kris doesn't trust Adam's word, Adam's gonna be very, very annoyed with him.

"No, I did not," Adam says tightly.

"Good," says Kris, nodding into Adam's neck, his breath coming hot and a little heavy. "Then I think you should take me home."

"What, now?"

" _Now_ ," Kris confirms, and then he— he opens his mouth and starts sucking on the skin just under Adam's jaw.

Adam startles, gasping, and there goes any hope of not blushing. He glances over at Cale again.

Cale is snickering and averting his eyes. "Just go," he says.

"But—" Adam tries, because surely Kris's friends will object to him just _leaving_ all of the sudden like this, even if Kris is currently sitting practically on top of Adam's growing erection and getting really friendly with all the places on Adam's neck that he likes to bite. Adam doesn't want to be _that guy_ , who swoops into his boyfriend's life and stops him hanging out with his friends. Not even for sex.

"Dude, seriously," says Andrew, on the floor nearby, not even looking at them. "Get him out of here."

"What—"

"Don't question it," advises Cale. "Just trust us when we say that we're totally on-board with you getting him out of here before it gets worse."

Adam is really, really unsure what they're talking about. But he's not actually opposed to having a clingy Kris all to himself, so he shrugs and says, "Well, uh, okay, then."

Cale helps Adam get Kris out to Kris's car, which is harder than it should be, because Kris seems to keep getting distracted from the fact that he has to actually _walk_ to his car, rather than just pushing Adam against the wall and licking his collarbones.

"I know, I know," he says, when Adam reminds him of this necessity. "I want to get home. We'll get home. But I just— One taste— I want."

"How about in the car, then," says Adam, desperately. He throws wide eyes at Cale.

"Yeah," says Cale, pouring Kris into the shotgun seat, "he gets like this sometimes."

Wow. The things Adam doesn't know about Kris.

"Well, g'night, I guess," Adam says, as he starts the engine. Kris leans over the gearshift to get his hand on Adam's thigh, fingers curling in against his inseam.

"Have fun," Cale calls, waving, and in the rearview mirror it looks like he's laughing.

—

The drive back to his apartment takes forever. At least, it _seems_ to, to Kris.

He's got Adam's thigh under his hand, up close to Adam's crotch where his cock is pushing out the front of his pants (because apparently horny Kris is a turn-on for Adam, and isn’t _that_ good to know), and he has to keep reminding himself that there are actually reasons, _good_ reasons, why he can't just unbuckle his seatbelt right now and crawl across into Adam's lap, straddle him and grind his cock up against Adam's belly, get his mouth on Adam's. Kris _wants_ to; he feels like it's been _ages_ since he and Adam had sex. Many, many, too-long ages.

He doesn't want them to crash, though, so he just grips Adam's leg hard and tries to decide how he wants Adam to fuck him once they get home.

He wants Adam to push him down on thei— on Kris's bed, to work him open all careful and slow like Adam still seems to think is necessary (totally unnecessary, at least right now, Kris thinks maybe he might not need _anything_ right now, because of earlier before he picked Adam up), then drape himself over Kris's back and take him hard. But he also wants Adam up against a wall, like that first night, wants to drop to his knees and nuzzle Adam through his pants, rub his face all over Adam's cock and then suck him down, or maybe _him_ up against the wall, Adam holding him in place, on his toes with one leg curled around Adam's hip, giving him just the right angle to push hard into Kris. But he _also_ wants to strip Adam out of all his clothes and lick him everywhere, to hold him down on the mattress with both hands on his shoulders, wants to ride his cock, hard and fast—

Kris tightens his fingers on Adam's leg and tries to stifle a groan. He doesn't do a very good job.

"Kris?"

"Adam," says Kris, and he'd be embarrassed by how low and hoarse it comes out sounding, but there's alcohol buzzing his veins, and he's so hard just thinking about Adam in him (the hand he's got pressed against himself through his jeans isn't doing nearly enough for him, he wants to get off, wants to get fucked _so much_ ), that it just doesn't even seem important. God, he _wants_ Adam, soon, _now_ , wants Adam all over him, wants to be all over _Adam_ , his hands and mouth and, and, and—

Kris leans over and presses his face to Adam's neck, licking across his pulse and then up toward the underside of his jaw.

"Kris!" Adam practically yelps. "Ohmigod, I am _driving_ , do you want us to _crash and die_?"

"Want you to fuck me," Kris says honestly. He scrapes his teeth over Adam's neck, can't help it, he just tastes so _good_ , soap and moisturizer and _freckles_ with just a hint of makeup. "Want you to fuck me _so bad_."

"Holy _shit_."

Kris licks him again, lets his breath blow over the wet patch of skin as he asks, "We almost home?"

"I—" Adam's exhale is shaky. Kris watches his adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Just a couple more blocks."

"Good," says Kris, and sets to making a nice pretty red mark right above Adam's collarbone to distract himself during those couple more blocks.

—

Kris won't stop touching him. Hands on his hip, his chest, his arm, around the back of his neck — Kris doesn't seem to care _where_ , he's just touching Adam _all over_.

It makes getting him inside harder than it probably should be, considering Kris isn't drunk enough that he can't still walk. Adam dares anyone else to do a better job guiding Kris from his car to his apartment door, with Kris licking at their collarbones the whole way. Also, he is so very, very glad they didn't run into any of Kris's neighbors.

"Can't wait," Kris says, squirming as Adam fumbles with the keyring looking for the one to Kris's apartment, going up on his tiptoes and grabbing Adam's shoulders for balance so he can grind his hips up toward Adam's. "Want your cock in me so bad, Adam."

"Shit," groans Adam. He finally finds the right key and gets the door unlocked, shoves it open—

Then Kris is wrapping his hands in the front of Adam's shirt and dragging him inside, pushing him up against the wall of the hallway with his whole body plastered to Adam's front and stretching up to kiss as close to Adam's mouth as he can, sloppy wet things across his jaw and chin until Adam tilts his head down and fixes the angle.

"Shit," Adam says again, when Kris's mouth leaves his again. " _Kris_."

Without moving away from Adam, Kris reaches back and flails until his hand finds the door, slamming it closed. " _Really_ want you to fuck me."

"Here?" asks Adam, with a helpless little rock of his hips against Kris's belly. He isn't— He doesn't know that he could make it work, against the wall, but— If Kris wants, he's willing to try.

"No," says Kris, and he presses a quick line of sucking kisses down Adam's neck before suddenly he's stepping back. He grabs the bottom of his shirt, yanks the plaid up over his head without even undoing any of the buttons and tosses it haphazardly over his shoulder, then grabs Adam while he's still blinking in surprise and drags him toward the living room.

"Wha—"

"Couch," Kris says, like he thinks this should have been obvious. He backs Adam up to it, to that big threadbare red monster of a sofa that Kris proudly pointed out to Adam the first time he ever visited, and pushes until Adam gives in and sits down, legs knocking against the coffee table, clumsy in the semi-darkness because there's only the light from the one lamp Kris must have forgotten to turn off before he left.

Then Kris steps back and kicks off his shoes, toeing out of his socks, hands fumbling to unfasten his jeans, and Adam wonders how it's _his_ head that's spinning, when Kris was the one drinking.

"Do you seriously— Don't we need, like, lube? And a condom?" Adam blurts, staring. He hasn't really gotten used to this yet, to the way Kris will just get naked and Adam's actually allowed to see it, to _appreciate_ it, knows that's what Kris _wants_ him to do.

Kris pauses with his jeans halfway down his hips, shiny head of his hard cock visible over the waistband of his underwear, and he gives Adam a positively _filthy_ grin. "Yeah," he says, and, leaning toward his one and only end table, "Hang on, here."

He pulls something out of the drawer, brandishes it smugly at Adam, and— It's a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, it's _condoms and lube_ and Kris _keeps it in his living room_ , holy fucking shit.

"Oh, fuck," Adam says, and then Kris is kicking his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off and all Adam can do is moan because, just, seriously.

Kris grins again, just as dirty. "That's the idea," he says, and then he's clambering onto the sofa and straddling Adam's lap, naked, erection bumping his stomach and leaving really delicious shiny smears all over. "Told you. Told you I want it."

"Yeah, uh, yeah," says Adam, not sure what words are coming out of his mouth, not even _caring_ , because Kris is unbuckling Adam's belt, tugging open Adam's pants and getting his cock out. "Shit, _Kris_."

The next thing Adam knows, Kris is rolling a condom onto him, snapping open the lube and slicking Adam's erection and then— and just— and—

Adam grabs at Kris's hips, holds him up and away, keeps him from sinking down onto Adam's cock because— "Wait, hang— Kris, wait, don't I need to—"

"No." Kris shakes his head. "I'm still— from earlier—"

Adam's eyes widen. "But we didn't—"

"Yeah, I... myself." Kris tips his head back, reaches out and grabs the back of the couch, wiggles his hips in Adam's hold, trying to get enough leverage to push down and get Adam inside him. It's pretty obvious what Kris means, what he's implying he did. And yeah, Adam can feel his dick slipping along Kris's crack, can tell he's definitely a bit slick, but— Kris knew Adam was coming over, had to know that they'd be—

"You, why would— What?"

Kris groans. He drops his forehead down to Adam's shoulder, rolls his head so he can lick at Adam's neck again because apparently he's got some kind of fetish and, still trying to work his hips down and get Adam _in_ him, says, "'m kinda— kinda a horny drunk."

It startles a laugh from Adam. "No, really?"

Kris bites him, talks over Adam's gasp. "I didn't want— thought you'd be embarrassed, if I did— if I was like this, in front of the guys, so before I went to pick you up I got my, a— got myself off, with, y’know— with a, a toy—"

" _Fucking_ — Ohmigod," blurts Adam, one of his favorite, favorite fantasies ever flashing through his head and holy shit, holy shit, Kris is saying it's _real_ , has actually _happened_. That it happened _tonight_.

"Didn't work," Kris rasps, biting Adam's neck again, licking up to speak directly in Adam's ear. "Still all loose, been feeling slick and empty all night, wanted you in me soon as you got in the car—"

Adam lets go of Kris's hips, gets his hand on his dick and positions it so that when he says, "Yeah, okay, fuck, c'mon," all Kris has to do is sink down— and he does, he does, Adam's inside him, and god, he really loves doing this—

Kris makes a wordless, keening kind of noise, lifts himself up a little and rocks back down quickly. Adam's not even doing anything, just staring, but after a second he pulls his hand back and wraps in around Kris's cock, strokes him once, twice— lifts his hips up in a tiny, tiny thrust that's all he can manage—

Kris's arms go taut where they're stretching past Adam's head, fingers probably white-knuckling on the back of the couch. He throws his head back again and grinds down, body spasming around Adam's cock and dick jerking in Adam's hand as— fuck— he _comes_ , spilling over Adam's hand already, from barely anything.

Adam stares, mouth open.

Kris gives another full-bodied shudder, then he sort of collapses against Adam's chest, all warm, flushed dead weight.

"Kris?" says Adam, almost afraid to move, because— because this isn't— he hasn’t ever seen Kris just _come_ like this before, like it's just from having Adam in him, and he doesn't know what he should— if he's allowed to—

"Mmnergh," Kris says, it can't even count as slurring because there aren't any _words_ , and nuzzles at Adam.

Adam swallows thickly, resists the urge to just rock up into Kris; it would probably be, be rude, or something, and if Kris got off this fast anyway, if Kris was really fucking himself earlier, maybe he's— too sensitive. Oh, god. "I— What should I— Do you want—"

"Fuck me," says Kris into Adam's neck, barely intelligible. "C'mon, Adam, want y'to fuck me."

"But you already—"

Kris laughs, twists his hips down against Adam in a slow, breath-stealing circle. "So?"

He sounds almost drowsy and he's draped over Adam like someone flipped a switch and drained all his energy, despite the movement of his hips — and even that is just enough to tease, not enough to really get Adam anywhere, not enough to bring him off, no matter how many times Kris does it. Adam presses his shoulders back into the couch and rocks up with his hips, just one, half-decent thrust and— and Kris whines and shudders and goes still, panting wetly across Adam's throat.

Adam bites his lip. "Are you sure you want—"

"God, _fuck_ me a'ready," says Kris.

Adam is tempted. He's so, so tempted, it would be easy, and _fantastic_ , to just rock up into Kris — fuck Kris's sweet, tight ass — in short shallow little thrusts that are just barely enough to let him feel Kris dragging hot around him, until he comes too, until he's satisfied. Except... "But you're— You can't really want—"

Kris gives a groan that really sounds a lot more like a growl. "I _want_ you to _fuck me_."

"You—"

Kris bites him, _again_ , and says "Adam, come _on_."

Adam is not a saint. He's balls-deep in Kris’s ass, he's got Kris's cock in his hand, Kris's come going tacky on his hand and shirt, Kris's breath on his skin, and Kris is demanding to be fucked and Adam just isn't a saint, okay, he can't be expected to resist this.

"Okay," he gasps, clean hand going tight on Kris's hip as he starts to shift up into Kris— a gentle, steady rhythm, just to show he means it, not really the way he’s going to do this because, fuck, if he’s going to fuck Kris, he’s going to _fuck_ Kris. "Okay, Kris, shh, I will."

Kris makes a happy noise, his body clenching around Adam as he lifts his head and kisses him.

"Like this, or— How do you wannit?" Adam asks through the kiss, letting go of Kris's dick — still mostly hard — and stroking his hand down Kris's side to grip his thigh, urge his legs wider apart. "Hm, Kris? How d'you want me to fuck you?"

"No, no, I want— bend me over something, spread me out."

Adam groans, imagining doing just exactly that to Kris, pushing him down somewhere and laying him open, fuck, as open as Adam can get him, sprawled and exposed and taking as much as Adam wants to give him; imagines Kris making all those pretty, pretty dirty hot noises and curling his fingers in Adam's hair, against Adam's shoulders that he seems to love so much — imagines maybe getting him flushed all over and fucking him, just slamming home over and over, until he _shakes_ with it—

Panting now, Adam digs his fingers in hard to Kris's flesh, grits his teeth and doesn't move, because god if he doesn't take a second here he doesn't know _what_ he'll do (it's a new feeling, scary and exhilarating at once because he's never out of control, never ever, he _hates_ it, but if he _were_ , if he did all the worst things he can think of to Kris, maybe Kris'd still like it, still want it, maybe _they'd both like it_ , holy shit).

Kris whines again, when all Adam does is clutch him tighter, "Adam, come on."

"You don't want to ride me?" Adam says — even though he's really onboard with this bending and spreading and fucking plan, holy shit, is he ever — just to watch Kris's eyes roll back a little as he bites his lip, to feel the way Kris's thighs tremble for a second and his body jolts around Adam's dick. "You sure?"

Moving his hands from the couch to Adam's shoulders, Kris yanks them closer, as close as they can get, his cock rubbing between their bellies, sticky and almost all the way hard again. He presses his lips to Adam's ear. "Adam," he says, demanding, "damn it, just put me over something and _move_ , for fuck's sake."

"Oh, god," says Adam, pulling his hips back so he slides out a little bit, and then he shoves himself up and forward, driving hard into Kris as he tips him backwards onto the coffee table.

Kris grunts as he lands, Adam catching most of his own weight on his arms. Kris clutches at him, mouths sloppily along his neck, and says, "Yeah, yeah, c'mon, Adam."

"Shit, Kris," is the best response Adam can manage, his breath pounding ragged in his chest. He pulls his hips away and thrusts in again, once, then again, harder, his cock sliding smooth and easy into the slick, clinging warmth of Kris's ass.

Kris writhes under him, a steady stream of mostly non-verbal noise leaving his lips — moans and gasps and keens and a low mewling chorus of Adam's name — increasing with every move Adam makes, running counterpoint harmony to the wet noise of Adam moving in Kris's body. His hands tremble where they cling to Adam's shoulders, weak but desperate; between them his dick is rubbing against their bellies, mostly hard and completely filthy.

"Is this how you want it?" asks Adam, panting into Kris's ear. He moves one hand to hold Kris's hip, hold him still for another pair of past, demanding thrusts. "Is it?"

"Yes," says Kris, with an ineffectual buck of his hips, "Yes, Adam. This, anything, I want _you_ , come on, fuck me, fuck, more, c'mon."

Adam feels dizzy, his brain not quite working properly, stuck in a haze, Kris the only thing that matters — Kris moving beneath him, around him; Kris's voice in his ears; Kris's hands and come and sweat and spit and Kris's fucking everything, on him; Kris, needy and begging for it.

Kris, everywhere.

"Okay. All right, okay," says Adam, barely able to breathe. "Yeah, okay."

Then he's lifting himself away, pulling Kris up and turning him over with a hand on his hip. Adam's dick slips free and Kris makes a noise of loss, protesting, but Adam shushes him — this is necessary, this has to be done, Adam needs better leverage, a better angle, more room to work, plus he wants to see Kris bent over his own coffee table, spread out and taking it — sure and confident, because this won't take long. And it doesn't; even as he's crooning soothingly, Adam is tugging Kris's hips back from the edge of the table, using one hand between his shoulder blades to press Kris down onto the table, keep him there and hold him still as Adam rearranges them — positions Kris the way he wants him, chest pressed to the table and the whole lithe, gorgeous line of his back on display, the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, the knobs of his spine and the sweaty dip of his lower back, that perfect curve where Adam always wants to rest his hand.

" _Adam_ ," Kris begs, and Adam's already curling his other hand around his cock — making sure the condom's still on, Kris's voice in his head yelling _safety_ at him — and pushing back into Kris.

Adam has to close his eyes, can't keep watching the way Kris's body goes loose and just lets him in like this, he thought he wanted to see it and yeah maybe he does but he can't actually _watch_ , not without losing his fucking mind. It's like Kris was— was fucking— was _made_ for this, made to be taken over and split open and shoved into and just fucked until he's a dripping, blissed-out mess.

"This, you want _this_ , don't you, been thinking about it since you picked me up, huh? Haven't you?" says Adam, voice a deep growl he doesn't even recognize, only just able to be heard over the creaking of the coffee table and the slick squeaking of skin sliding over it, as Adam fucks into Kris again and again.

Then Adam's cock must hit something — everything — in Kris just exactly right on the next press in, because Kris opens his mouth and just fucking _wails_ , his hand shoving blindly down between his hips and the table, fumbling for his cock. Adam's hand moves from Kris's hip and finds it first.

And oh, god, okay, Kris is definitely all the way hard again, cock hot and heavy against Adam's palm. Adam can even feel it dripping pre-come as he teases a finger over the slit, loving the way Kris twitches and gasps, shuddering around him.

"Yeah," he says nonsensically, so close to coming that he can practically taste it — so close he doesn't know why or how he's not _there_ yet already, not coming inside Kris, pumping his load into Kris's willing, god so willing, ass (and _that_ thought should have him coming if nothing else will, but it doesn't, just makes him slam himself home even harder). "Yeah, that's right. Gonna do it, Kris? Gonna come for me again, baby? Get yourself even messier, dirty yourself up for me? Gonna go tight, make me come in your sweet — god, your fucking _greedy_ — little ass?"

Adam's shocked at what's coming out of his mouth, amazed he can utter this kind of filth, horrible porn-worthy dialogue really, without doing worse than blush hotly — because he is, his skin's flushing and heating up with embarrassment — but it feels good, feels _great_ to say it, and he almost wants to keep going, even as Kris shakes and ruts himself back onto Adam's cock like he can't help himself.

And Kris is talking, too, all "Oh, yes, fuck, yes, God, gonna— gonna— Adam, make me feel it, yeah, wanna feel it for _days_ , Adam, make me, c'mon, fuck, fuck, Adam, fuck me—"

Abruptly, Adam digs his nails into the tan, meaty skin between Kris's shoulder blades, holds him down harder, pushes in one last time and grinds as close and as tight as he can, coming hard and heavy and helpless in Kris, fucking _perfect_.

"Fuck, are you— fuck, fuck, _Adam_ —" whines Kris, bucking urgently, frantic with the need to come too.

Adam can't speak, can't quite get his tongue around anything that resembles words, but he wraps his fingers more firmly around Kris's erection, jerks him quick and dirty to an orgasm that has him clenching down around Adam's cock — too much, too good, too soon — and spilling thin and weak over Adam's fingers.

"Holy— Holy _shit_ , Kris," Adam pants, when he can. He slumps over, forehead resting against Kris's spine, and presses a shaky kiss to Kris's skin there.

"Yeah," Kris hums contentedly in response. It's less a word than it is a quiet kind of fucking _purr_.

"I don't even— What was _up_ with that, Kris?"

"That was me," says Kris. "I told you, I'm— I mean, I get horny, sometimes, when I drink."

"You get fucking slutty, you mean," Adam says, and his words are maybe harsh, but his tone is pure admiration and delight. He has no problems — absolutely _none_ , at _all_ — with Kris being slutty.

As long as it's aimed at him, at _Adam and only Adam_ , that is.

"Yeah," agrees Kris, laughing briefly, breathless and damp, into the coffee table. "I really kind of do, yeah. God."

—

It isn't hard for Kris to admit it. He accepted not long after he came out to San Diego that when it came down to it he just really, really likes sex — especially getting fucked — and that he likes it enough to have made some frankly very poor choices in pursuit of it. He likes it _a lot_. It's why he's got a box under his bed that he's half-afraid and half-excited for Adam to find, why his friends all refuse to live with him unless they have to because Kris apparently gets _loud_ and that's not something they really need to hear.

"And you're _mine_ ," Adam says at his back. There's something about his voice, about the way he says it, that Kris feels like maybe he should be paying attention to, but the beer and orgasms have him drifting in a sort of happy haze and he just can't care right now.

Kris stretches, spreads his arms out to drape over the sides of the coffee table, and after a second remembers to mumble, "Mm, yeah."

Adam laughs. His weight leaves Kris's back, and is briefly replaced by a soothing stroke of Adam's hand. "Oh, Kris," he says softly, and then, "Come on, let's got you cleaned up, okay?"

"Okay," Kris agrees, but Adam's already pulling out, one hand splayed on the small of Kris's back to hold him still while Adam withdraws, and Kris is too out of it to stop himself hissing and pouting at the emptiness, at not being _full of Adam_ anymore. Adam shushes him gently, but stays gone.

A moment later, Adam is carefully gathering him up and pulling him back and mostly upright, until he's pretty much sitting across Adam's thighs.

"Whoa," says Kris, mumbling as his head kind of swims and the room spins a little, grounded by Adam's hands on his hip and chest, and the rasp of denim under his legs— and oh, hey— "You are in— you've still got your jeans."

"Yes." Adam's breath is in his ear, and he seems like he's laughing a little, which means it's probably _at Kris_ , but his touch is gentle and careful and Kris doesn't care at all. He'd laugh at himself, too, probably. "C'mon, Kris, we've gotta get up, get you into bed so I can come back and do something about this table."

Kris rolls his head until he can nuzzle into Adam's sweaty neck. "Table? What's wrong with the table?"

Adam laughs again. "Uh. Other than you just got fucked on it and came all over it? Nothing."

"Oh." Kris considers this, tries to figure out if he should feel embarrassed or upset, but again, he just can't care. "Okay."

"Well, _you're_ easy right now. Maybe I should keep you like this all the time," mutters Adam.

That sounds just fine to Kris. He hums his agreement as Adam tries to urge him up. It works, or seems to; Kris makes it to his feet at the same time Adam does.

"Okay, now, c'mon—" Adam starts, dropping his hands—

Kris takes one step forward, or tells himself to, but then the room is swimming again and the floor next to the coffee table is getting closer and—

"Whoa," says Adam, catching Kris under his arms, "Okay, so, maybe letting you walk under your own power is not so good an idea."

"Wha' happened?" asks Kris. He doesn't think he actually cares what happened; whatever it was, now he gets to put his face back into Adam's neck, and that's just the awesomest place for it to be, ever.

Adam sighs. "Your legs gave out, apparently. I guess this is the downside to fucking you stupid?" he adds, sort of vaguely, as he starts guiding Kris somewhere. Probably toward his bedroom; this looks a lot like his hall.

"No downside," says Kris, feeling very decisive. "Get to breathe you in. Upside." He nods against Adam.

"Shut up," Adam says, but it sounds kind of muffled and indistinct, even though there's nothing over _Adam's_ face, so Kris figures he can ignore it.

"You are awesome," he tells Adam, as he gets tipped over onto his bed, nice and soft and squishy. But kind of cold, actually. "Also, you are warm. C'mere, warm Adam."

"In a minute," says Adam, running a hand through Kris's hair, brushing it away from his face. "The table, remember?"

"Don't care about the table," says Kris. Adam's pulling a blanket up over Kris's body, though, and he's less cold now, so probably he can wait for Adam to get back. "Be fast."

Adam laughs — _again_ , he must be really really happy about _something_ — and kisses Kris on the forehead. "I'll be right back, Kris."

And then all Kris feels is himself falling asleep, but he knows Adam will be back by the time he wakes up, and that is _awesome_.

**Author's Note:**

> Can also be read [on DW](http://gailsauce.dreamwidth.org/81497.html) or [on LJ](http://gailsauce.livejournal.com/81894.html).


End file.
